


rank riders

by firewalking



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, CHEAP minsung, Crimes & Criminals, Domestic, Fights, Gang Violence, Gangs, Gun Violence, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Kinda, Knives, Like its barely there, M/M, Murder, Russian Roulette, Weapons, and weapons, at the beginning at least, chan brought a gun to a knife fight, hyunjin is a liar, seriously, theres a lot of blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 17:52:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15321009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firewalking/pseuds/firewalking
Summary: because some people like to do things the hard way.





	rank riders

**Author's Note:**

> for the love of god read the tags

Hyunjin shakes Minho awake, and the older boy turns to see only an arm draping down from the top bunk, fingers outstretched and wiggling around, catching a few strands of Minho’s hair in the process. Hyunjin yanks on them, rather than asking Minho if he’s awake, but he’s more satisfied by the bunch of curses he hears than he would be by a straight answer, anyway. 

 

“Power outage.” Hyunjin’s voice trembles as he speaks, followed by the equally panicky sound of him flicking a light switch over and over, to no avail. They should be used to it by now, but they both find themselves annoyed as Hyunjin leans over to wake up Jeongin, and Minho gets out of bed to wake up Chan- they’re equally as distressed at the situation, the entire room filling with rushed whispers and the scratching of their fingernails against their heads.

 

“I don’t want to go back to sleep,” Jeongin confesses, making his way down the ladder of his bunk, practically landing on top of Minho.

 

“You don’t have to.” Minho leads the youngest into the kitchen, Hyunjin and Chan following soon after, although they neglect to leave their blankets behind on their beds, coming with them wrapped around their shoulders. They watch quietly as the other two try and busy themselves, turning on the emergency flashlight they keep on the counter, which gives them enough light to find a box of tea bags in the back of one of their cabinets.

 

After a fair amount of struggle, the four of them stand around a pot of water, four tea bags submerged in it. It sits on an unlit burner, the only thing happening in the liquid being small ripples, caused by Minho stirring it with his pinky.

 

“I’ll go get us some matches.” Hyunjin tosses his blanket over Minho’s shoulder and goes rifling through the pile of things on the coffee table, picking up the first box of matches he sees. It’s not hard to find one- they’re everywhere in the apartment. He lights one as he heads back into the kitchen, outstretching it and waving the other boys away from the stove. The burner is eager to catch the flame; Hyunjin fans at it a bit with his hand, and when it holds strong, he places the pot of tea over it and turns back, coming face to face with Minho.

 

“Minho, ever wanted to see a match burn twice?” The stick is dwindling away between his fingers, and under the pressure of time, Minho nods.

 

In what must be a fraction of a second to everyone’s eyes, Hyunjin blows out the match, spins it around, the leftovers of the flame streaking through the air, then jabs the smoking point into the side of Minho’s neck.

 

“ _ Ow,  _ what the  _ fuck  _ Hyunjin!” Hyunjin gives him a smirk as he deposits the match into the trash can, and when he opens his mouth to tell Minho, “Well, you fell for it,” the older boy admits himself, “Okay, okay, I fell for it.” He laughs about it, breaking into a grin, and the rest of the boys follow- the pot of tea starts to boil on the stove, sounding almost like it’s laughing with them.

 

They’re still giggling as they settle around the cluttered coffee table with steaming mugs of tea. Chan takes a sip first, and his face turns sour, every crease of his expression accentuated in the dim light. “It’s peppermint.”

 

“It’s good!” The rest of the group counters in unison, and Chan puts only one hand up in mock surrender, the other hand occupied splitting his tea between the mugs of the three others. Careful not to spill their now overfilled mugs, they spread the piles of junk on the coffee table out flat, hoping to find something to entertain themselves besides crumpled mail and half-empty boxes of matches. Minho and Jeongin brush hands as they reach for the same tacky home-and-garden magazine, and the younger quietly asks, “Minho, can’t you read palms?”

 

“It’s a gimmick, I learned it myself in middle school,” Hyunjin quips, grabbing Chan’s hand to demonstrate. He traces a couple of the grooves in his palm with the tip of his finger, pretending to think, and then goes, “Yeah, Chan, you’re, um... a fuckin’ idiot.” The oldest and youngest burst into laughter immediately, Hyunjin soon following them.

 

Minho’s the only one who doesn’t laugh, sighing and running a hand through his golden hair. “Jeongin, let me show you what a real palm reading is like.” Jeongin willingly places his hand, palm-up, in the older boy’s grip.

 

“You’re not gonna call me a fucking idiot, are you?”

 

“No, but Hyunjin might.” Hyunjin has no comment, he simply takes a sip of his tea and nods, giving a tight-lipped smile while trying not to spit all over the table as he holds back another chuckle.

 

Minho feels for Jeongin’s heart line first- it’s always the default one he goes for, even when it proves one of the least interesting. He’s backtracking his way up to the top of Jeongin’s hand when Hyunjin asks, with mock curiosity, “Oh, you’re going to read his love line?”

 

“You’re going to read my  _ what _ ?” Jeongin squeaks, pulling his hand back and shaking it, as if Minho’s coated it with something.

 

“It’s called your heart line, not your love line, and it’s not that big of a deal.” The older boy rolls his eyes toward Hyunjin, who’s twisting one of his rings with a devilish smirk on his face, his front teeth peeking out between his lips. “We’re gonna find out if our little Jeonginnie’s in  _ love _ ,” he drawls.

 

Minho has to laugh, but it greatly lacks humor. “We’re gonna find out if our little Hyunjinnie falls unconscious when I smack him upside the head.” He opens his own palm, and Hyunjin picks up his mug of tea, taking another sip to prevent himself from saying something stupid. Minho watches him as he swallows.

 

“Minho.” Jeongin’s voice is small. “You’re gonna read my head line next, right?” Minho nods, already looking for it, quite blindly, since it’s not connected to his life line. For the first time in ages, Minho finds himself having to look at Jeongin’s hand, the determined strokes over his palm turning into faint touches born by disbelief. “Your head line is all broken,” he comments, tracing over each fragment. “I think you’re easily led astray. Sometimes by others, sometimes by yourself.”

 

Jeongin nods sheepishly, curling his hand into a fist and feeling his palm lines on his own. He doesn’t have the same intuition that Minho does, but he can put the given pieces together in his head. He does it a couple times over, and by the time he believes it, he believes so strongly that he doesn’t bother asking Minho to read his life line. Minho doesn’t mind, he goes back to the sorting the mail on his side of the table, but his intuition doesn’t quite let up- never has, never will.

 

He waits for the emergency flashlight to go out, glancing at it every few moments, and when the other boys jump in surprise as the bulb fizzles out, he just lays his hands flat on the table. Hyunjin pushes himself up, and Minho almost tells him not to bother looking for batteries, because he knows they don’t have any, but he lets him waste a couple minutes padding around the kitchen, sticking his hands in all the drawers and covering the sound of Minho putting his shoes on.

 

“I’ll go get us some more batteries,” he says, and there’s a polite but scared chorus of, “We’ll come with you too!” that sounds from the living room.

 

“Then go get your shoes on.”

 

It seems even darker outside than inside, likely due to the vastness of the city, narrow alleyways seeming absolutely cavernous to the four boys. Excluding the brick surfaces on either side of them, the only thing they can find in the dark is each others’ hands. Minho pulls Hyunjin along behind him, and Chan does the same with Jeongin, their footsteps falling into sync, then their breathing.

 

All of them gasp as they stumble out onto the city’s main street, lined with shops. One of them is the supermarket they’re looking for. All of the storefronts are equally dark, having only a few lights, powered by batteries or by generators. Each “OPEN” sign they pass feels less and less welcoming, much like the thick, humid surrounding them on all sides. Minho jokes that it’s a looming presence, that of a demon. “Or maybe,” Hyunjin cuts in, “It’s something human.” A comical thing to say in a city packed to the brim with people. He glances over his shoulder as they enter the grocery store, and he sees no one.

 

There’s no one inside the store either, not even an employee at the registers, and Minho mumbles that it must just be “one of those nights.” Most would think it was due to the power outage, that the employees managed to slip out of the store after things went awry, but the lack of a single light source in the store hinted that the store had emptied had left far before that.

 

Even with their wandering eyes, the four managed to navigate the dark aisles with ease, and with quietude, aside from their slightly wet sneakers finding purchase on the store’s smooth tile. Only moments after they had come to a stop in front of the few packs of batteries left on the shelves, their own silence tipped them off to the same presence that had plagued them outside- something warm, something muggy, and this time, something  _ breathing. _

 

“Miss me?” Minho recognizes the voice first, and turns to see nothing but a silhouette in the dark- but his height and stature, paired with the baseball cap perched atop his head, give a few strong hints as to who it is. He’s tailed by four other boys, who Minho is already putting names to, before he can even see their faces.

 

“Jisung.” Minho tests the waters, even the tone of his voice cautious when saying the other boy’s name.

 

“Minho,” Jisung replies.

 

“You’re still with your gang,” the older boy comments, avoiding mentioning any of the other four boys by name. He doesn’t want to give Jisung anything he already knows, it’ll just set the kid off. He nods casually at Minho’s simple response.

 

“And I see you’re still with Hyunjin.” Jisung barely gives the tall boy a glance; it’s a surprise he even acknowledges him. Even when Jisung spent day in and day out in his company while they trained together, Jisung never cared to give him the time of day. Currently, he was shrouded in the shadows, only half his face receiving any light while the other half leaned into the fabric of his sweatshirt hood. He gave a barely detectable nod towards the younger boy, whose gaze had moved lower.

 

He quirks his eyebrow at Jeongin, who he’s eye level with, and while Jeongin is analyzing Jisung’s face, committing it to memory in case they ever meet again, Jisung is raising a fist with a keyring poking out from between his knuckles.

 

“Now, who’s th- Oh, our dear Channie,” Jisung’s tone chances from one of scorn to one of mockery as the eldest steps in between the two younger boys, catching Jisung’s fist in his own, larger hand. The keyring Jisung was holding clatters to the floor and slides away as he opens his palm against Chan’s- Jeongin takes the chance to slip behind Hyunjin and look for it.

 

“I haven’t forgot about when you used to lead us; what a tragedy that was. How are you all doing now that Minho’s in charge?” There’s a sick glint in his eyes as he looks over Chan’s right shoulder, directly into the void that Minho’s eyes have become. Minho wants to shrug off Jisung’s comment as if it’s an accusation-  _ how the hell did Jisung know he was in charge, anyway? _ \- but that would just start a fight that didn’t need to happen.

 

“A lot better, actually. Now, if  _ your _ little group here could skip to the good stuff, that’d be nice. Or do you not have anyone to keep you in line?”

 

“Actually, we do.” The voice is nasally, and it belongs to the boy in the black cap whom the rest of the group has parted to let forward- Jisung and Felix on the left, Seungmin and Woojin on the right. Which means the boy who’s stepped forward as the leader is…

 

“ _ Changbin,”  _ Chan says, looking downwards, as if he’d be able to meet the other boy’s eyes through the brim of his hat.

 

“That’s right.” He mumbles when he talks, his lips barely opening enough to show his teeth.

 

“Say that again for me, can you? Loud and clear.” Chan focuses his eyes on the only part of Changbin’s face he can see- the bottom half.

 

“Tha-” Chan’s hand stops him, open-mouthed, in the middle of his sentence. In a grand silence, with deep admiration, Chan studies the feature he was looking for. With his thumb against his bottom lip and his other four fingers tucked underneath his chin, he spins the younger boy around the face his own gang. Their faces twist with naive confusion; they’re not sure what they’re supposed to be looking at. Despite their confusion, every one of them can read, and the heavy-handed tattoo on the inside of Changbin’s lip displays a word they didn’t expect to be so relevant to them-  _ TRAITOR _ .

 

“Look familiar?” Chan asks. His eyes wander among the group, a slight sadness brimming in them when he realizes they won’t answer, they’re not having any fun with this.

 

Hyunjin doesn’t waste time waiting for answers. He leans in and yanks Changbin’s hat off his head, tossing it behind himself. His hair falls, but the taller boy is quick to push it backwards, his fingernails digging into the most tender part of Changbin’s forehead- his scar.

 

It’s two lines- the first being a steep diagonal that starts near his eye, cutting through his right eyebrow and ending on his forehead, the second one cutting horizontally through the first and derailing into his hairline- together, a perfect  _ T. _ The blood trickling from where Hyunjin’s nail pierced his skin flows down the valley the first scar has created.

 

“Does  _ this  _ look familiar?” Hyunjin asks in a more forceful tone. The group musters some weak head shaking, and Hyunjin accepts it as an answer. “Makes sense. I’d hide that shit, too, if I had it. But thank God I’m not a traitor, yeah?”

 

Silence. Hyunjin yanks the hair at the nape of Changbin’s neck, jerking his head back. “ _ Yeah?”  _

 

“Y-yeah,” Changbin stammered, his voice breathy and weak as Hyunjin’s fingers inched their way around his throat. They vanished just as fast as they had come, leaving Changbin scraping his own fingers down his neck and gasping for air.

 

“So,” Hyunjin announces over the sound of Changbin choking, “Any questions?” A couple of the boys, namely Seungmin and Felix, open and close their mouths a few times with no sound.

 

“How did this happen? That’s a good question,” Hyunjin says eagerly, not bothering to hide his wicked grin behind the top of Changbin’s head- rather, he steps out in front of the shorter boy, technically invading the other gang’s space. None of them move a muscle- Hyunjin likes to think they’re captivated by him.

 

“This happened because we had no other choice with Changbin, unfortunately. We had given him the easy way out of everything- we gave him a home, we gave him company, we gave him a job in the drug field, we gave him something to be a part of- his whole life had been laid out ahead of him. But Changbin decided he wanted to do things the hard way- and when you do things the hard way, you just can’t do them alone, can you? That’s why he roped you poor things into this.” The boys look among each other at this.

 

“Quite literally- he roped you into this. You four were found nearly unconscious in the back of a van, Changbin in the driver’s seat. Minho, you were the one that pulled the van over. You know this part better than I do.” Hyunjin slides out of the way, making room for Minho, who doesn’t bother to step forward, just brushes his hair back so a bit more light will shine on his face as he starts talking.

 

“Changbin put up quite the fight- I’m not sure what else I would expect from him, honestly. So I became indifferent, and I said, ‘You know what? Fuck this.’ I let Changbin take his damages.” He scanned the group from right to left, ending on Jisung’s wide eyes and pursed lips. “No matter how much you meant to me, I figured I would let you go, and maybe, just maybe, you would realize what’s fucking good for you and you would come back.”

 

Hyunjin steps in again, ruffling Changbin’s hair as the short boy becomes the topic of conversation again. “Before we let you all go, we took Changbin in, because if he wanted to get out and start doing things the hard way, we certainly weren’t going to let him go easy- at least not  _ too  _ easy. We started carving into his forehead- and what do you know, that was just a little too hard for him to handle, so we settled for tattooing his lip. Nice to know it hasn’t faded away yet, although it’s a little disappointing you don’t show it off. It looks lovely.” Changbin grumbles something incoherent  as Hyunjin pulls his bottom lip once again.

 

“Any more questions?”

 

“What makes you think he deserved this?” The gang’s eyes turn to Felix at the sound of his voice- deep, but gentle, and conveying the naivety of a child- and Hyunjin follows their gazes to the short blonde boy, who rocks back on his heels as soon as Hyunjin steps toward him.

 

“What makes you think he didn’t?” He grabs Felix by the collar of his shirt as he stumbles backwards, barely keeping the younger boy on his feet. “He’s a traitor,” Hyunjin spits, the word still tasting foul in his mouth after all this time.

 

Felix just shrugs, as if it’s no big deal, but it’s clearly a struggle for him to keep his calm facade up. “He’s not a traitor, you’re just obsessed with him.” He wriggles in Hyunjin’s grasp, the effort making his face turn red.

 

“Oh,  _ I’m  _ obsessed with him? We’ll see how  _ you  _ act when he’s bleeding out on the floor, and then maybe we can decide who’s obsessed with him.”

 

“You wouldn’t do that.” His voice carries no conviction, it’s more of a plea than anything- Hyunjin’s not impressed, but he might as well humor the poor thing before his situation gets a hell of a lot less funny.

 

“You’re right, I’ll get rid of you first and then we shouldn’t have any more problems.” He has to stifle a laugh at the horror on Felix’s face. When he’s gotten his old demeanor back, he pulls a knife out of the waistband of his jeans and rests it against Felix’s stomach, out of the younger boy’s line of sight- he can’t see it, but he can certainly feel it.

 

The place falls into silence, the only sound being the faint rustling of Felix’s clothes as he kicks his legs around, still desperate to get away from Hyunjin.

 

“Any objections?” the dark-haired boy asks, gently swinging Felix back and forth in his grip, as if he weighs no more than a feather. “Alright then.”

 

In one swift movement, Hyunjin stabs the knife into Felix’s throat, right underneath his Adam’s apple, and cuts a straight line down to his chest, only diverting from that course to make sure the knife has gone through his heart. The blood begins flowing almost immediately, soaking his clothes, the overwhelming amount of excess starting to make a puddle at Hyunjin’s feet. There’s a sick, wet sound every time another drop hits the floor. Hyunjin isn’t phased, maybe because he’s not looking- he’s turned towards his own gang. He arches an eyebrow at Minho and asks a question only the older’s intuition could give a snappy response to- “Do you think he’s a traitor?”

 

“Yes.” Almost before Minho can get the word out, Hyunjin makes a horizontal slash across Felix’s throat- it forms a perfect T. Hyunjin drops his limp body to the floor, making sure he stays face up, and kicking his arms out to his sides when they crumple to cover his torso.

 

A fraction of a second after Felix’s body falls to the floor, the three boys closest to him do the same. Seungmin and Woojin keep their distance- Seungmin with his back pressed against the shelving units, Woojin kneeling behind Hyunjin, so he can watch the scene only through the gap between Hyunjin’s legs. Jisung leans over Felix, his heavy breathing shifting the strands of hair that lay over the blonde boy’s face, and making ripples in the pools of blood that have collected at his collarbones.

 

“Get up,” Hyunjin orders, poking Jisung in the side with the tip of his boot. Jisung doesn’t move, but his eyes fall shut, and his expression goes slightly slack, like he’s trying to ignore everything going on around him. “Fine, stay down and pay your respects, I guess, but just know you might not be getting up.”

 

Hyunjin lets out an exaggerated cough, stands up straight, and swings his leg back. When it comes forward, the thick heel of his shoe connects with the back of Jisung’s skull, forcing the younger boy’s head straight into Felix’s chest. The pressure makes more blood spill out of the wound- the areas of his shirt that are already stained darken once again, but the overwhelming majority of the fresh blood goes straight into Jisung’s mouth. When he sits up, he spits into his hand, then sputters a bit more as blood drips off the tip of his nose, sliding down past his lips. Hyunjin bends down, admiring the sight for a moment, watching the blood dry around the edges of his nose and the corners of his mouth- Jisung wipes at his face in vain, but his soaked shirtsleeves only stain his flushed cheeks with more color. The younger boy looks over at the older, his innocent eyes always asking for help, even if he doesn’t truly want it.

 

Hyunjin sighs and cracks his knuckles. “Don’t worry, this’ll make everything a little better.” Jisung tilts his head a bit to the right, and Hyunjin takes advantage of the expanse of Jisung’s jawline- he lands a punch right under his chin, and he falls back. If the punch itself didn’t knock him out, the impact of his head against the tile certainly did- the floor is dry where he falls, there’s no puddle to cushion his fall, although the streams of blood from Felix will make their way down to Jisung eventually. (Hopefully, at least- a bit of blood makes him easier to look at.)

 

When Hyunjin stands, who’s left of the opposing gang bristles- they know their numbers are down, that it’s 3 vs. 4 now, 4 vs. 4 at best, if Jisung were to get up, but judging by the way he doesn’t flinch when Hyunjin steps full-force on his palm, he’s out cold. “Well, wasn’t that easy?” Hyunjin comments. Nobody agrees- but nobody disagrees, either.

 

“Let’s keep it going, why don’t we? Who wants to go next? We’ll give you the easy way out, don’t worry.” He pats the bump in his jeans where he’s tucked his pistol.

 

“Nobody? Well, we can always just open fire on the place if you’re going to be like this.”

 

“I’ll do it.” It’s the same nasally voice that had spewed nothing but disobedient bullshit for so long- hearing anything else from him almost sounds like a dream, and Hyunjin can’t hide his grin, carding his hand through his hair to reveal his full child-on-Christmas-esque expression.

 

“You will?” Hyunjin asks in near disbelief.

 

“Don’t make me change my mind.” They walk somewhat aimlessly around each other, but really, they’re subconsciously getting into position- Changbin’s crossed back over to where Seungmin and Woojin are, all three of their back facing the front doors of the store.

 

“Don’t worry, you won’t get to.” Hyunjin snaps his fingers, and it’s the cue for Minho and Chan to step forward. and Jeongin to step back, hiding around the corner- as the youngest, he’s never expected to do anything too hands-on, just make sure everyone stays safe. Chan places one hand around Changbin’s throat- it’s large enough to wrap more than halfway around- and pushes down on the younger’s shoulder with his other hand, keeping him in place. Minho and Hyunjin swap places, Minho places his gun mere centimeters from Changbin’s forehead, and Hyunjin serves as his backup, only a foot further back.

 

Minho wastes no time cocking his gun, seeing as Changbin has nothing left to say- the tattoo on his lip and the scar on his forehead had done all his talking for him earlier. Once everything was set in place, time seemed to move faster, or maybe it only appeared that way after everyone had been still for so long. Changbin lowered his head a fraction of an inch, Minho’s finger hit the trigger, Changbin started to lean, there was the sound of the bullet firing, and then there was a scream.

 

It wasn’t Changbin’s voice. Changbin didn’t say anything, laying on the floor, staring with wide eyes towards the back wall of the store. Minho couldn’t find a single wound on him, but out of the corner of his eye, he watched a drop of blood splatter on the floor, and a hand desperately chase it, as if it could be caught. Minho’s gaze traces up the boy’s arm.

 

It’s Seungmin, one hand pressed to where his shoulder meets his chest, his other arm dangling helplessly at his side. As soon as their eyes meet, Seungmin scrambles backwards, darting around the corner into the aisle on his right. Minho can’t follow him, there’s no way he’ll get past Changbin and Woojin (and the bloody mess on the floor behind them) in time to catch Seungmin. Hyunjin and Chan are equally as hopeless.

 

“Jeongin!” Minho yells.

 

Jeongin fumbles with his gun, holding it as far out in front of him as possible. He manages to fire practically blindly into the aisle, only able to see through the gaps in the shelves on the aisle’s endcap. He manages to graze Seungmin’s injured arm, and when he doubles over at the pain, Jeongin slips into the middle of the aisle and fires a bullet directly into Seungmin’s skull, the kickback nearly making him hit the floor first.

 

“You got him?” Minho asks once his ears stop ringing.

 

“Got him,” Jeongin replies.

 

Minho turns his focus back to Changbin, who he’s starting to consider more and more of a threat. Minho turns his gun in his hand, and Changbin tries to follow by taking out his own gun, but when his hand touches his jeans, he finds his holster empty.

 

He had given his gun to Jisung. They always gave their weapons to Jisung, and he always gave them back right when they needed them. Changbin could see him, only a few feet away, face-up on the floor and already starting to sport a colorful bruise that crawled up his left cheek. His clothes were rumpled, but there was a clear outline of the barrel of Changbin’s handgun in his sweatshirt pocket. Still, Changbin couldn’t bring himself to take it- he couldn’t bring himself to touch Jisung’s body. Truthfully, he was most scared of it being cold. Every weapon he had ever held was cold, but a person should never be cold.

 

Changbin found himself with his fingertip limply pointing towards Jisung, and Minho easily approached the boy on the floor, prodding at him with his foot before squatting down and rolling him onto his side. The gun in his pocket hit the floor with a dull thud, and Minho picks it up.

 

“This yours?” he asks, already knowing the answer- he’s just waiting for Changbin to nod, which he does.

 

“Come here and get it.” Minho begins to steadily back up down the aisle, the rest of his gang coming forwards to meet him, so they form a shoulder-to-shoulder line.

 

“What if I don’t want it? What if I want to do things the hard way again?” He contradicts himself as he talks, heading down the aisle towards Minho, who has the other boy’s gun laying in his open palm.

 

“Well, then, we can do things the hard way.” Minho turns the gun over in his hand a few more times- Hyunjin stands over his shoulder, looking curiously into the barrel, which has only 4 bullets in it.

 

“We can make the hard way a little bit of fun, too,” Hyunjin says, taking the gun from Minho. “Changbin, have you ever played Russian Roulette?”

 

“Yeah, a couple times.” He makes a pointed glance at Woojin when he says this- it’s obvious he would’ve done it with his new gang; there was no way Chan would ever let his gang mess around like that.

 

“Cool. We won’t be playing Russian Roulette.” Changbin raises an eyebrow at this- it’s exactly the response Hyunjin was looking for.

 

“I’m glad you asked what we’ll be doing. There are four bullets in this gun- one for each of us.” He points at Jeongin, himself, Minho, and Chan in turn. “We’re going to stand right here, spin the barrel of this pistol, and then we’re going to shoot you.”

 

“You won’t need to do a thing.” Chan steps forward, and when Changbin reels back, he catches him by his wrists, zip tying them together. He forces the younger into a sitting position, zip ties his ankles as well, then pushes him back to rest against one of the shelving units. He takes a length of rope- not thick, but enough to do the job- and ties Changbin to the sturdy metal post. He wastes no time admiring his handiwork- it’s not one of the nicer things he’s done, anyway- and gets right back in line with the other three.

 

“I’ll go first!” Hyunjin pipes up, immediately spinning the barrel. He looks the other way until it comes to a stop and makes sure to cover it with his hand when he holds it up. Since Changbin is so close, Hyunjin doesn’t need to spend much time aiming, and he fires so fast it comes as a shock to him- and only him. No bullet comes out of the gun.

 

“Just my luck. Minho, you’ll do good.” Hyunjin spins the barrel for him before placing it in his palm. Minho lifts it with the same posture, using one hand to cover the barrel and the other hand to pull the trigger. The gun fires, and the kickback combined with Minho’s wicked smirk let everyone know Changbin’s been shot without having to look at him. The bullet buried itself somewhere along the right side of his ribcage, and Changbin squirms to get into a position where it hurts even a little less.

 

Minho passes the gun to Chan without hesitation. “Three bullets, that’s 50/50. Do a good job.” Chan nods, repeating the same motions as Minho and Hyunjin. Changbin watches him with glassy eyes. Through his tears, there’s no way he can make out Chan’s expression- or the bullet that hits his stomach, making him double over (as much as he can with the rope still binding him in a sitting position).

 

“Jeongin,” Chan calls, stretching to hand the gun to him. He doesn’t look excited for his turn, in fact, he whispers to Hyunjin to ask if the older boy can do it for him.

 

“You’ll do fine,” Hyunjin assured him. “And even if you mess up this time, we’ve got all night. The power’s not coming back on; nobody’s gonna show up.” He spins the barrel for him, just like he did with Minho, and places the gun in Jeongin’s hand, guiding the younger boy’s fingers over it and pulling his arms up. “Ready?”

 

“Ready,” Jeongin mumbles, pulling the trigger and dropping his arms as fast as he can. He can feel Hyunjin’s stare on him a thousand times better in the silent room. It’s silent. He didn’t shoot Changbin.

 

Before Jeongin can even process it, Hyunjin is spinning the barrel again. Maybe it’s better for Jeongin not to think about what he’s doing, not to think about messing up, just think about putting one hand over the barrel, the other hand on the trigger, aiming as best he can, and pulling. As Changbin’s breath hitches, a bullet entering his neck, Jeongin sighs. He hands the gun off to Hyunjin, but he doesn’t take it. Everyone’s eyes are fixed on Changbin, and they’re not saying anything- they don’t need to. It’s clear Changbin’s dead. Woojin’s still backing up, as if he’s afraid Changbin is going to lash out on him for letting this happen.

 

Jeongin doesn’t look at Hyunjin when he passes him the gun, he looks in Woojin’s direction, not because he’s ashamed, but because there’s wicked grin taking over his face. Hyunjin takes the gun and high-fives Jeongin’s open palm, making his smile even wider. “Good job, kid.”

 

“Couldn’t have done it without you.”

 

Hyunjin spins the gun, and the rest of the group turns to look at him in confusion. Under their accusatory glances, he stops the barrel, the last bullet sliding into the place it needs to be. “What? You think I’m gonna waste a perfectly good bullet?” He shoots Changbin one last time, the bullet entering his forehead and the force making his body slump down to the floor. “Never in that traitor’s fucking life.” He tucks the gun into the right side of his waistband, then moves forward to assess the damages.

 

“Jeongin, this look good?” the older boy asks, picking at the bullet hole he had made on Changbin’s forehead. “You think that would have killed him?”

 

Jeongin swats Hyunjin’s bloody hands out of the way, getting a look at the wound for himself. He nods slowly and hums in approval- a good enough response for Hyunjin. He pulls at Changbin’s clothes, wipes the blood on his own hoodie, pulls at Changbin’s clothes some more, hands the few pocket knives he finds off to Chan, then stands. He’s gotten his expression under control, stone cold, and Minho, Chan, and Jeongin all match him.

 

They gather around Woojin, staring him down. He gives each one of them a scrutinizing look before he speaks.

 

“You three kids, fuck off. I think Chan and I should settle this.” Woojin grabs the front of Chan’s shirt, picking him out of the group, and drags him forward, into the small circle the dead bodies have created. Minho, Hyunjin, and Jeongin back up to the end of the aisle, all of them aiming guns at the scene before them, although Hyunjin and Jeongin stand off around the corners, their fingers not even on their triggers- Minho is the sharpshooter of the group, after all.

 

Chan tries to steady himself on the slippery ground as soon as Woojin lets go of his shirt, but the second the younger boy drops his left hand from the older’s neck, he punches him with his right hand, sending him to the floor. His gun falls out of his pocket, and Woojin looks at it with disdain. “You really brought a gun to a knife fight?” he comments as he pulls his own weapon- a throwing knife. There are four matching ones in his hip bag, the metallic handles catching the light just like the blade does.

 

“Nobody said I was going to shoot you.” He grabs the gun off the floor and spins it in his hand, but before the handle returns back to his palm, he lurches forward and hits Woojin in the back of the knee,  _ hard _ . The younger boy collapses,dropping his knife, and Chan rolls out of the way, coming to stand over him. He makes sure to kick Woojin’s knife underneath the shelves, most likely sending it a couple aisles down.

 

Woojin’s best attribute was that he never let up, and throughout everything, he never faltered, reaching into his bag and pulling another knife- he’s down to three, and while Chan fixates on them, there’s a high pitched whizzing sound and an equally distressing sting against his cheekbone- Woojin’s thrown a knife at him. It smashes into something glass, the shattering sound covering up Chan’s curses. The elder loses his balance, but as he falls, his hand brushes against Woojin’s bag, and he comes up with the perfect idea.

 

He grabs the three knives inside of it immediately, driving two of them through the palms of Woojin’s hands and into the floor. Woojin doesn’t scream, he refuses to, he just grits his teeth and stays as still as possible, knowing that if he moves, the knives will just do more damage to his hands. Even though Woojin doesn’t move, Chan pushes the knife handles to a new angle as he adjusts his knees on the ground on either side of the younger boy, who hisses at the pain. He opens his eyes just enough to watch Chan trace the blade of the last knife with his fingertip, admiring it.

 

“It’s a really nice knife,” he admits casually. “Don’t you wish you could kill me with it?” Woojin stays silent; Chan sighs.

 

“What a shame,” the older boy comments, seemingly regarding nothing. With nothing else to do, he lays the knife to Woojin’s throat and drags it across, slowly, savoring the feeling of taking someone else’s life. It never gets old- a king would never resign from his position because it’s boring, now would he?

 

He barely notices himself going back and forth over the cut he’s already made, deepening it, watching it fill with blood, and deepening it some more. Eventually, he finishes and pulls the knife out with a slight popping noise, tearing down the side of Woojin’s neck and giving his blood a path to the floor, where it starts to pool, travelling far enough out to even start soaking his hair. Chan runs his fingers through his own curls as he stands, only to bend down again and start picking up the knives- he wasn’t going to let perfectly good weapons go to waste, especially when he had rightfully earned them (in some way). He tucks them into his own holster, then joins the rest of the group.

 

None of them have much to say, they just look amongst each other with complacent expressions. Minho pats his jacket pocket softly. “I still have the batteries, if that matters to you guys.”

 

“Well, it’s what we came for, so I think we can head home now,” Chan replies, leading the way out the emergency exit- he’d like to avoid covering his clothes in more blood before walking out onto the street. Chan places his hand on the door handle, but before he can push, there’s a groan from somewhere else in the store. Minho detaches himself from the end of the line and backtracks into the aisle where everything went down.

 

Jisung is sitting up, rubbing his forehead. And it gives Minho an idea- one born of a bit of sympathy, but just as much hatred with it.

 

He circles around, through the aisle where Seungmin’s body is, not bothering to avoid any of the blood puddles- he might as well make a bit of noise and make it easier for Jisung. When he comes to the entrance of the next aisle, Jisung is staring in the opposite direction, allowing Minho to come up behind him. Halfway down the aisle, where Felix’s body lay, he gets down on his hands and knees, smearing a trail of blood across the floor as he approaches Jisung.

 

He gets close enough to hear his breathing- it’s ragged, he’s making a clear effort to keep quiet. His mouth is slightly open. Minho presses his left hand to his face, just missing his lips, and turns the younger’s boy’s head to face him- messy hair, bloodshot eyes, gun and all.

 

“Miss me?”

**Author's Note:**

> congrats u made it thru this bloody mess of a fic while dealing with my lack of proofreading and highly questionable characterizations
> 
> if u wanna encourage me to write more gross shit drop a comment or some kudos or smthn :^)


End file.
